


This Place Is Bullshit (the Gods need to leave me alone)-ON HIATUS

by ArcaneD3



Series: Everything Sucks (And I Don't Think I Can Make It Any Better) [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Language Barrier, On Hiatus, This is the first piece of writing i've done outside of school work, im not joking - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2018-11-12 11:51:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11161281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcaneD3/pseuds/ArcaneD3
Summary: (Will add tags & warnings as the series progresses)(Not yet rated, though it might be at least 'Teen and Up', maybe 'Mature')THIS FIC IS NOW ON HIATUS (see ch. 4 for more details)"Waking up in a dungeon with no clue how you got there is a bit 'annoying'. Waking up to find everyone speaking a different language is also annoying. Having to deal with a giant portal that spits out demons is just damn repetitive. But going around, recruiting new people because I'm some 'religious figure'? You go do that, because I cannot and will not go around inviting random people to join our new and not-so-exclusive 'kill all demons' club just because I have a shiny green hand that does magic tricks. Fuck that."Or; In which the Hero of Kvatch can handle demons, portals, a new world, maybe even the same old quest line with a twist, but cannot and will not handle being a "religious figure". Like, have they met him? It's not gonna work out, at all.Thank you to GirAwesome43 for helping inspire the new title! (it was formerly "Will Think of Title Later (or never, im lazy af)", the new one is definitely an improvement)





	1. Authors Note

**Author's Note:**

> Just so you all know, I am not kidding when i say i have never, in my entire life, written anything outside of schoolwork. So don't go in here expecting something good.  
> Criticism is welcome, as long as you're not trying to be an asshole about it.

**EDIT** : I've started posting chapters, but im keeping this A/N here anyways

 

 

 

Okay!  
So, i was writing chapter 3, before i realized i forgot to add an important, yet currently minor detail to the other two chapters.  
As i was going through the chapters to do that, i realized i may have to rewrite certain parts.  
This is my fault, i was rushing through the chapters, and i should've waited a day after writing them to be sure they were good, going through them more thoroughly, etc.

so, im taking down the first two chapters; I'm not changing too much, just adding some stuff, and when chapters 1 and 2 are done, i will put them back up, along with chapter 3, and hopefully, chapter 4.

Sorry about this, I'm still new to writing and posting fanfics :/  
I'll get the hang of it soon, i hope!

Than you for reading!

Also!

Some stuff I'd like input on!

1st, if High Rock had it's own language(s) (basically French), what would it be called? What about other Tamrielic countries, like Hammerfell and Orsinium?

If you've read chapters 1 and 2, how was the pace? Too fast/rushed, too slow, not enough detail, etc? I would really appreciate feedback and advice! I wont get offended!

finally, what is the best update schedule for most people? once a week, twice a week, etc; would you guys prefer updates on Fridays, or on Sundays, etc etc

I won't have an update schedule for the first 4 chapters, but I'll try to keep one after that.

Once again!  
Thank you for reading!  
and i will have the chapters back up within the week!!


	2. Actual Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t you hear it? The singing- it calls out. We all hear it; it consumes us, as we consume it.” 
> 
>  
> 
> (OOooooo creepy foreshadowing \\( ' , ' )/ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :I
> 
> this is kinda late  
> (im sorry :/ )

 

His head hurt.

It was the first thing he noticed when he came-to, apart from the damp, cold feeling his entire left side had. He kept his eyes closed, staying as still as possible on the ground _(cold, hard, damp; too smooth for a cave, maybe a cell?)_ , and began mentally cataloging his injuries.

His left hand was numb _(sprained, or broken? Maybe just asleep?)_ , his left arm had a static feeling that came from the bone _(sprained? Maybe i was hit with a spell earlier),_ his right leg ached _(bruised, maybe a small bone fracture?)_ , and his head was pounding, making it hard to think clearly. _(concussion, maybe?_ ).

He suddenly became aware of the heavy weight around his wrists. _You’ve got to be kidding me_

Okay, stay calm.

Where was he?

He didn't remember how he had gotten here. That, along with the headache, implied someone knocked him out, either with an object or magic.

He was being held hostage; either for ransom, or for information.

Ignoring the aches all over his body, he focused on his other senses.

He was definitely in some sort of dungeon.

He felt a wetness on his left cheek- _Gods i hope that's just water_. He wasn't in armor; instead, he  was in what felt like civilian clothing- more than one layer, which implied he might be somewhere cold?

The air smelled stale and heavy, with a smoky smell that he assumed was from torches.

 

He tried to listen, but his right ear was always weaker, and the position he lay in made it hard to hear from his left.

He thought he heard dripping?

He became aware of something tickling his nose. Praying to all the Gods that there wasn't a bug on his face, he slowly opened his eyes.

His vision blurred for a moment, but soon cleared. His hair was loose, covering his face with orange strands. Looking past that, he saw a closed door. It was large and made of metal, with a small barred window.

His eyes skimmed the room, taking in what little he could see.

There were chains hanging on the walls, which were made of stone bricks. There were two torches on either side of the door, and maybe another behind him, judging by the light he saw. Going by the wall he could see, this room was about 20-30 feet wide, though he wasn't sure about length.

    Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something shift. Staying as relaxed as he could, he tried to focus on the movement in his peripherals.

    Someone, maybe a man, stood there, occasionally shifting foot to foot, otherwise still. From the reflection the torches made, the man wore heavy armor, and had his sword drawn. The way he shifted his weight and seemed to turn his head, constantly looking around the cell, and maybe at him, implied he was nervous about something. Probably scared. _Well, good to see my undeserved reputation precedes me._    

    Suddenly, the numbness in his hand faded, and was instantly replaced with a sharp electrical pain that felt as if it came from his very bones.

Squeezing his eyes closed, he couldn't stop himself from crying out; mostly from shock.

_What the fuck?_

Opening his eyes, vision swimming he saw an electric green glow emitting from his left hand.

No longer caring if his captors knew he was awake, he sat up suddenly, causing one to shout in surprise. Something clattered; maybe the jittery guards sword?

As he sat up, he was assaulted by a wave of dizziness, the room tilting side to side. He closed his eyes for a moment, getting his bearings, as one of the guards rushed out of the room.

He looked down at his hand, uncurling his fingers-unaware that he had them clenched so tightly- and was unnerved to find a long gash taking up most of his palm.

Even more unnerving, was that instead of exposing the flesh underneath his skin, it looked as if someone had filled the wound with a glowing, sickly green light, with sparks of static jumping out, skittering around the edges, causing sharp, pinpricks of pain on his skin.

As quickly as it had come, the pain vanished, as did the sparks. His hand however, remained glowing green, a steady, dim glow emitting from it. He noted the pale, greenish tinge the rest of his hand had, and how the veins on his wrist were a light, pale, glowing green, that spread up his forearm, fading before it reached his elbow. _What is this? Some sort of spell or curse? Magic-experiment gone wrong?_

As he studied the strange wound, he noted two figures moving into his line of sight.

Looking up from his hand, hair still obscuring some of his vision, he noted two, maybe three, other guards move close, weapons drawn; he couldn’t tell right away, his head aching and eyes bleary. The guards did not, however, move to attack.

Deciding that they weren't going to do anything, he turned his attention back to his hand, flipping his hair out of his face as he did so. _When did it get so long?_

He could've sworn he had cut it short not long ago- when was that?

_What day is it? And how long have i been here?_

Suddenly, he felt a cold sinking feeling in his stomach. This wasn't good.

Either he was losing time again- which hasn't happened since the Great Anguish-, he had a bad head injury, or they were using magic to wipe his memories.

The last two were the most concerning.

He noted all the guards looked tired and nervous, maybe even a bit scared. _Way to look professional._

    Before he could think of what to do next, the cell door slammed open.

He immediately turned his attention to the newcomers. Both of them were women; one was hooded, wearing light chainmail and a purple hood concealing her face, though he caught a glimpse of pale skin. She was short and lithe, maybe a Breton, or perhaps Bosmer? _Too pale. Unless she’s mixed?_ He saw no visible weapons on her.

He turned his attention to her companion. The other woman was tallish, wearing heavy armor with an unfamiliar insignia on it- an eye with a sword going through.

_Oh gods, is this another cult?_

She had a squarish, scarred face, and tan skin with short dark hair that was wrapped in a braid around her head. An Imperial from her looks. Her posture screamed authority (as did the fact that the guards immediately stood at attention when she entered). She wore a sword and shield on her back; a warrior, then. From the looks of her armor, she was no mere bandit, and probably well trained.

He also took note of the fact that the hooded women instantly went to the side, standing by the door and in the shadows. She was definitely some sort of agent or spy, maybe even an assassin? She certainly carried herself like one, especially with the eerily silent way she walked.

Before he could make any other observations, the Imperial women marched up, grabbing the front of his(?) shirt, yanking him up.

“Sag mir, warum wir dich jetzt nicht töten sollten.” She growled, voice heavy.

_Well, that was… unexpected?_

She let go of him, dropping him on the ground, and started pacing.

“Das Konklave ist zerstört. Jeder, der besucht hat, ist tot. Außer für dich." At that last sentence, she turned to him. He paused, unsure. After a moment, he finally responded.

 

                --------------------------------------------

 

 

“Ego non intellego quid dicere.”

 

Cassandra paused, then glanced at Leliana. The Spymaster’s face betrayed nothing, though she did narrow her eyes, definitely suspicious of this unexpected response. Cassandra turned back to the prisoner, studying more closely now that he was awake.

    He seemed to be in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. He was broad shouldered, and while not exactly skinny, he was only slightly muscular, and was of much smaller stature than most men; probably shorter than her. His skin was pale, and his hair was a dark orange, shoulder length, curly, and falling in his face.

He was scarred- the most obvious ones on his face. Three jagged lines- claw marks, perhaps- marred his face, scarring mostly the left side. One started from his left brow to his right cheek, anther went over his left eye, though it didn't seemed to have blinded him, and another from his left hairline to right jaw, running over his mouth.

His eyes were dark green, almost black. They looked up at her, observant, confused, and his expression seemed slightly annoyed.

 _Annoyed. As if this whole situation was_ _inconveniencing_ _him._

Cassandra felt her rage flare up, fueled by grief. What was his play here?

“What game is this?” She snapped, patience thin. “Speak! Explain yourself, I know you must understand me.”

    There was no way he couldn't understand King's Tongue- even other countries, like Antiva, had some understanding of the language. It was spoken everywhere.

    He was faking; trying to throw them off.

    “Questus iratus, non intellego me vobis.” The man said, seeming even more cautious at her temper, “Mitescere.”

    Cassandra moved to grab him again, end this damn ruse- but Leliana stepped forward suddenly, arm blocking her.

    “Calm yourself,” she said, her voice soft, “we need him.”

Cassandra nodded, then reluctantly stepped back, letting the Spymaster take over. She knelt before the man, who watched them both wearily- Leliana, especially.

 

                ------------------------------------

 

    He tensed when the Imperial moved forward, but the hooded woman suddenly stopped her, speaking in a calm voice that put him on guard. _She sounds to calm. Definitely an agent, or has the training of one._

The Imperial stepped back as the hooded woman walked over and knelt down to eye level.

    She was Breton, her blue eyes sharp and calculating, short copper-red hair framing her face. He watched carefully as she spoke.

““Kannst du verstehen, was wir sagen?”

He narrowed his eyes, a bad feeling building up.

“I don't understand you. Does anyone here speak Cyrodiilic?” He kept his voice calm, despite suddenly feeling impatience. It was a trade language, and known throughout the Empire.

Was he outside of the Empire?

That woman over there was an Imperial. How could she not understand it?

This situation suddenly felt a lot worse than it did before.

 

The hooded woman looked at him carefully, not breaking eye contact (much to his discomfort).

After observing him for a few, long seconds, she stood and turned to her companion.

They spoke quietly moment, the Imperial occasionally glancing at him (well, glaring).

He suddenly felt anxious, and felt a small tremor in his hands.

_Oh gods, calm down you dolt._

He quietly focused on his breathing, keeping calm. The hooded woman suddenly looked at him, eyes sharp.

His heart spiked, leaping into his throat.

_Breathe._

The hooded woman studied him for a moment, before turning to the Imperial.

After a few seconds, she left, leaving him alone with the Imperial (and those other guards, but he didn't give a shit about them). The Imperial approached him.

    Watching her cautiously, he allowed her to grab his arm and pull him up. The green gash in his hand, having been momentarily forgotten, flared up again. This time, the pain shot through his entire are, almost causing him to collapse.

    The Imperial woman seemed taken aback, free hand moving towards her sword momentarily, then stopped. She then sighed, and, to his surprise, removed his shackles, replacing them with rope.

He briefly thought about escaping- this rope could easily be broken, maybe he’d even waste some magicka burning it- then decided against it. Fighting his way out in this state wouldn't work, and he needed to know what was going on, so he decided to play along. For now.

 

                ---------------------------------------

    The prisoner seemed on guard as they walked through the dungeon, though he did give her a small smile.

Cassandra ignored him, focusing on other matters. According to the Spymaster, the language he spoke sounded like Tevene- which gave them an idea of who might have been involved in the explosion at the conclave. But what was their motivation?

Tevinter must be encouraging the war, hoping to take advantage of the rebel mages, maybe launch their own attack.

Perhaps the rebel mages were working with the Imperium? Cassandra found that unlikely. Her grip tightened on the prisoner's arm as she emerged from the dungeon, into the Chantry. Suddenly, the prisoner slowed down. Impatient and lost in thought and anger, Cassandra tugged his arm harshly, then turned when he didn’t move any faster.

The prisoner was looking around the Chantry as if he had never seen one before, mouth slightly open, eyes darting around the stone walls, gold decorum, and red carpet. He seemed almost oblivious to the way the priestess’ looked at him, with unease, fear, and anger. Others watched him cautiously. He looked both confused and impressed at the large building.

Then, his eyes focused on a small, gold plated statue of Andraste nearby. The prisoner then stopped completely, turning to face it. Cassandra glared at him, impatient.

“What is it?” She snapped at him, irritated. They didn’t have time for this, with the Breach still expanding.

The prisoner looked at her, then at the statue again. He then turned to her fully and attempted to point at the statue.

“Quis est enim mulieri? Vidi in conspectu eius.” He said, seeming almost…confused.

Cassandra paused, unsure of how to respond. She shook her head, then led him out of the Chantry, ignoring the the way he glanced back at the statue.

 

                --------------------------------------

 

    That wasn’t a normal chapel. There were no stained windows portraying the Nine, like in Cyrodiil, and no small shrines to pray at. Despite that, it was fairly obvious it was some sort of place for worship. There were what seemed to be priests, dressed in robes of white and red.

He saw a small gold statue of some woman; she didn't look like any god he knew, Divine or Daedric.

Though, she did look very familiar…

He slowed down, craning his neck to see the face better. He frowned, trying to recall-

 

    **“What a shame,”**

**Her voice was silvery, spoken clearly. “He was such a good friend.”**

**She said that as if she knew him. She didn't. Not like he did.**

**She was tall, and she stood there, under the shadow of the statue- a great dragon, head craned up, wings stretched.**

**Her dress was simple and white, down to her ankles. Her eyes were blue- not any specific shade, just… blue.**

**Her hair was a red-gold color, and the sunlight streamed through the still broken roof of the Temple of the One, casting a light that made it look like she had a halo.**

**“What a great sacrifice. No one will forget it,” she smiled, soft.**

**He was vaguely aware of his head suddenly hurting.**

**“This empire” She raised an arm, gesturing around her “is falling apart. No emperor. The Blades- you’ve lost purpose. Your council, in their tower, are lost. The people are lost. But there is so much more; beyond the Padomaic Ocean, there is the blood you seek. They want to spread his song, his words, to all the corners of the world.”**

**She looked solemn**

**“They sing the wrong song, and their tune is poisoned.”**

**He had no words. _Say something, dumbass.  
_**

**“I-I...” he paused “I can't sing, though. Can barely carry any tune.”**

**She laughed.**

**Then she stopped, solemness returning**

**“But you're good at remembering words, aren't you? You recite them so easily- a collection in your head. I have something to add to that collection- it will be lost among the others, but you'll find it again; a dusty tome with a forgotten song.”**

**He knew her. She was familiar; he’d seen her face, before all this-**

 

                --------------------------------------------

 

   

    -he bumped into the Imperial woman as she suddenly stopped. They were out of the building now. He gave her a semi-apologetic smile, and looked around, hoping to recognize his surroundings.

They stood in a village, with snow blanketing the ground, apart from paths that had been carved out. They were surrounded by mountains- _is this the Jeralls?_.

The sky was clear, except-

_Okay._

_What the fuck was that?_

 

He openly stared at the sky, eyes wide.

 

There, in the distance was a hole in the sky. It looked like some sort of vortex- it was green, and surrounded by a spiral of clouds that swirled inward. Bright green meteors shot out of it occasionally, crashing somewhere in the valley it loomed over.

The Imperial woman was saying something- he didn't bother paying attention.

    It was captivating, yet horrifying, to watch. It was unfathomably big, looking as if it would swallow to whole world if given the chance. Suddenly, it expanded, its maw consuming the sky as if it hungered for more.

At that same moment, the burning feeling shot through his hand again; it felt as if his very bone had turned into fire, consuming his arm from the inside- static crackled across his palm.

The gash expanded ever so slightly, and he felt as if it, too, would consume him whole.

    He didn't recall falling to the ground- but there he was, on his knees, the cold snow soaking into his pants.

The pain felt briefly unbearable, and he started reciting something- a children's rhyme?- under his breath as the pain turned into an aching feeling, like a recently bandaged wound.

 

He jumped as a hand grabbed his shoulder-it was the imperial woman, looking suddenly cautious _(probably the crazy muttering- I gotta stop doing that)_. She began talking, gesturing to the swirling vortex as she did.

He frowned, and shook his head, giving her a confused look. She looked frustrated-then, taking a breath, she gestured to the vortex, made a motion with her hands of something growing(?), then pointed to the mark on his hand.

 

The two were obviously connected- the color, the way the mark hurt when the vortex expanded.

Did they… think him responsible? Honestly, he would too, considering the situation. Though, how would one create such a thing?

The woman looked at him expectantly, gauging his reaction.

He didn't have much choice, did he? Even then, this wasn't something you walked away from. _I didn’t help save the damn world for it to try and end again._

He nodded, looking resolute.

She seemed surprised, then took his arm, pulling him up- not as harshly as before, he noted. As he stood, swaying slightly, she let go of his arm, and gestured for him to follow.

He took the time to examine the village they walked.

It was a fairly large village, with all wooden buildings, except for the tall stone chapel they had left. The village was surrounded by a stone wall, and he noted the tents that littered the village.

He saw injured civilians being cared for by the priestess’. They all wore bloodied and torn clothing, and the scene reminded him of the small camp of survivors, outside Kvatch. There were dozens, maybe over a hundred, people.

And they all looked at him, with fear and anger, with undertones of grief.

These people obviously thought him responsible for this; they were looking to blame this, whatever it was, on him.

He began to wonder what exactly happened, where that vortex came from, when they stopped outside of the gates.

He watched warily as the imperial woman pulled out a dagger from her belt, and stepped towards him.

She took his wrist and cut through the rope bindings. _Well, that's much better._

He rubbed his wrists, sore and chapped, nodding to the woman.

She nodded back, and, for a moment, looked as if she wanted to say something.

She instead gestured to the path ahead- he saw bodies, and injured soldiers. That’s not a good sign.

He silently followed her, nothing but questions on his mind, no way to ask them.

 

                ----------------------------------------

 

    They passed many bodies on their way up the path. Cassandra spared them a glance, continuing onwards.

They also passed the Chantry Brothers and Sisters who tended to the wounded, saying prayers to the dead. She noted the way the prisoner looked at them, with weariness and curiosity.

She knew the Imperium had their own version of the Chantry and its teachings- she wondered how different it must be.

She looked away, scowling. Though his shock at the sight of the Breach seemed genuine, it didn't change the fact that all signs pointed to him being responsible- how else could he survive with that mark on his hand? And how would he know Tevene? Though, the fact that it seemed to be the only language he spoke was concerning. Why would the Imperium, or whoever else was be responsible, send someone who didn't understand King’s Tongue?  Something didn't add up- this raised more questions than answers.

    These topics weighed on her mind as they passed through one of the gates, crossing a stone bridge and continued up the path.

    She suddenly realized the prisoner wasn't behind her anymore. _Damn it! I shouldn’t have turned my back on him_

She turned and ran back, hand on the hilt of her sword, eyes darting past the injured soldiers and-

There he was, next to one of the wounded soldiers. Cassandra paused, taken aback- she had thought he’d ran. She quickly approached.

The prisoner was knelt net to the soldier, and older man in his fifties, a face lined with wrinkles and grey hair matted with dried blood and black ichor. He was leaned back against some rubble, bleeding profusely from his chest where a demon had slashed open his cuirass. He coughed up blood, gasping as pain racked his body at the movement, his bloodied face twisted into and expression agony. There was no saving this man- his wounds were too deep, she could even see his ribs.

    The prisoner had an expression of sympathy as he leaned forward, gently placing his hands on the man's wound, pressing against them lightly.

She heard his muttering under his breath; the soldier, tired and barely holding on to consciousness, grabbed the prisoner's arms.

“Please” he rasped, voice hoarse and frail, “ Please, there's nothing you can do. Maker, just let it end, the pain-”

The prisoner said nothing, looking at the wound with a calculating expression, and just as Cassandra reached over to pull him away-

    A soft, pale blue light radiated from his hands, bathing the soldier in a soft glow that eventually settled on the wound. _He's a mage._

    As the glow faded, the prisoner pulled his hands away, revealing the wound. It wasn't healed completely, but the one was now covered and the bleeding had gone down, and it was overall smaller, red scarring around the edges.

There were gasps and murmurs, and Cassandra looked up from the scene to find a small group of soldiers and clerics had gathered.

The old soldier looked down at his chest, eyes widening t the sight.

The prisoner seemed nervous at the sight of the crowd, and moved to stand, but the soldier grabbed his hands, pulling him back down.

“Thank you, “ he said tearfully, “thank you, and thank Andraste for sending you.”

The soldier froze, and looked at the prisoner's hand, at the mark. He looked up into the prisoner's eyes, pale blue meeting dark brown.

“Is it true? Can you stop this madness?” the soldier sat up higher, and the prisoner reached out to steady him; he seemed like hed pass out at any moment.

The soldier waved him off, “I saw them pull you out of the wreckage, out of the rift. I saw the woman who stood behind you in the fade. I don't care what the others say, Andraste sent you, she must have. I know sh-” his words were cut off by another coughing fit, blood dripping down his chin, “I know you can save us,” he hoarsely continued, “I can feel it.”

He finally let go of the prisoner, pushing him away

“Go, and Andraste bless you. Thank you.”

The prisoner hesitantly stood, face solemn and brows furrowed. He turned to Cassandra, who stood there silently. He gestured to the Breach, a small encouraging smile appearing briefly.

Cassandra looked to him, then the soldier, who was being tended to by a priestess. The small crowd had slowly dispersed, whispering about what they had witnessed, what the soldier had said.

She looked to back to the prisoner nodding determinedly.

They made their way up the hill, towards the Breach.

She did, however, keep in mind that he was a mage- she’d need to watch him more closely now; Tevinter was known for their practice of blood magic.

 

 

                --------------------------------------------------

 

    Perhaps it was a head injury, she mused, thinking of the way he'd looked at her in the dungeon when she had spoke to him.

Cassandra had heard of people who had lost their memories, even their minds, due to certain head injuries; why not an entire language? She would need to have Adan, maybe even a healer, examine him, though, just to be sure…

When the had reached the top of the hill, her thoughts were broken by a cry of pain. She spun around to find the prisoner on the ground, hunched over, clutching his hand and it sparked and glowed. _It’s happening more often now._

He didn't notice her approach, muttering under his breath. She had heard him do it a few times earlier, and the guards had mentioned he talked in his sleep. It was odd. Perhaps another symptom of his suspected head injury?

Ignoring the muttering, she put a hand on his shoulder, and his head shot up, looking at her with pain in his eyes.

He was silent as she helped him up, and she realized he had been dead silent since they had left the Chantry. Of course, there wasn’t much either of them could say, considering they could understand each other, but for some reason, it felt very discontenting.

    He looked at her, and she couldn't help but notice a small splattering of freckles on his jaw and neck, though not on his face. In the light, she could see his face was soft, his jaw square and with a rounded chin and slightly curved nose, his eyes tired. He was shorter than her, the top of his head just barely reaching her brow. His eyes, dark and piercing, studied her for a moment. His expression seemed empty for a moment, though it was broken by a brief, almost awkward, smile, and he stepped back, nodding towards the path ahead.

She noted how he averted his eyes away from her own- he’d done it multiple times earlier. It was slightly unnerving, like he was hiding something.

 

                --------------------------------------

 

    They approached a large stone bridge that spanned over a completely frozen river. As they began to cross, a large meteor struck the bridge, causing it the collapse. They fell, meeting the icy ground.

    Cassandra picked herself up, eyes surveying the damage. The prisoner had recovered quickly, and looked up to the sky, eyes widening.

She turned to where he was looking- just as another meteor struck, breaking apart the ice in the immediate area.

Out of the broken ice and rock formed a Shade, and Cassandra wasted no time in drawing her sword and shield, and charging at the demon.

As she fought the Shade, she saw a second one form out of the corner of her eye, but instead of charging at her, it went in the opposite direction.

_Why is it not- The prisoner!_

Dodging another swing from the first shade, she struck it down, and quickly spun to face the second.

By the ruins of the bridge was the prisoner, cornered between a mountain of rubble and the demon, which had its claw curled back, ready to strike.

Cassandra charged at the demon as fast as she could, sword raised-

The demon suddenly screamed-no, screeched, as it was tackled. Cassandra froze, and watched as the Shade was mauled by a shadow-like, violet specter in the shape of a tiger.

With an echoing roar, the tiger swiped a killing blow on the demon, and once dead, it turned to to stare at the Seeker.

Cassandra raised her sword, but the tiger turned away, walking towards the prisoner, who had stood there calmly. Once it stood before him, he raised his hand, watching it once with a violet glow, and the tiger disappeared, leaving no trace of its existence.

He summoned a demon, with no ritual and no blood magic as far as she can tell. How?

She was silent, processing what she had witnessed.

Then, she spun towards the prisoner.

 

                ----------------------------------------

 

    As he banished his familiar back to the realms of Oblivion, he began to consider finding an actual weapon. He had no potions, and no way to regenerate the magicka that he wasted. He needed to start conserving his magicka for emergencies- he had used most of it on the wounded man earlier. It wasn’t a wise decision, but he had looked so familiar, like someone back from Kvatch…

 _I’m getting soft,_ he thought, _physically and mentally_.

Weary, he looked at the remains of the shadow creature; he had never seen anything like it before, solidifying his belief that he may not be in Tamriel anymore.

It had fallen from the vortex… was it some sort of Oblivion gate? _Gods, this shit again? Though it may explain how I arrived here._

 

He turned to check on the Imperial woman- what little of her fight he'd seen confirmed that she was a formidable fighter- when suddenly, there was a blade at his throat. Behind it, the Imperial woman looked at him in rage and suspicion. _What the fuck did I do now?_ _  
_ “Wie hast du diesen Dämon herbeigerufen?” She demanded.

He looked at her, unsure. Was it his magic? He’d met plenty of Nords with a problem with it, but never an Imperial.

_Maybe she’s realized she's underestimated me; probably didn't expect me to be very good with it._

This meant they didn't know who he was, meaning the vortex was the only reason he was prisoner. _That may simplify things, I hope._

“Mach das nicht wieder.” The woman said coldly, sheathing her sword and shield. She turned away from him. She called out something over her shoulder, though he didn't bother trying to hear it.

    He kept his distance and she searched through some broken crates that had fallen from the bridge. As she did that, he began to look around, hoping to find a real weapon to use in place of magic.

Looking through the rubble and broken crates, he found some bodies of the soldiers who guarded the bridge.

He searched the bodies, muttering some prayer to Arkay as he did so. He found a shortsword, and it seemed to be in decent condition, though obviously not new. He had a bit of experience with shortswords, though not much. _I guess it'll do for now._

Grabbing the sheath and belt, he turned to find the Imperial woman looking at him oddly. He glanced at the body, then back at her, then shrugged. She scowled, then handed him a small bottle- some sort of potion?  
He examined it, noting the deep red color. A health potion, then?

He wondered what gave it its hue- contrary to belief, not all health potions were red, especially not this bold of a shade; they were simply placed in red or pink bottles for easier identification.

    Placing the bottle into a small satchel attached to the belt, he gave the woman a small nod. She paused, definitely still angry at him from earlier, and turned to follow the frozen river.

 _Gods, not even an hour in and I'm already sick of this shit._ He sighed, moving to catch up to the perpetually angry Imperial woman.

 _Then again,_ he mused _, it only took me less to try and ditch Cyrodiil after i got that damn amulet. I hope I don't get another chance to break that record after this.  
_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SO SORRY THIS IS LATE  
> im so new to this. sorry for the sporadic updates etc.
> 
> (King’s Tongue is German, Cyrodiilic is Latin)  
> ((I used Google Translate, so it’s not 100% accurate))
> 
> “Sag mir, warum wir dich jetzt nicht töten sollten.”  
> “Das Konklave ist zerstört. Jeder, der besucht hat, ist tot. Außer für dich." - “Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now. The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.”
> 
> “Ego non intellego quid dicere.” - I do not understand what you’re saying.
> 
> “Questus iratus, non intellego me vobis.”  
> “Mitescere.”- Getting angry won’t make me understand you. Calm down.
> 
> “Kannst du verstehen, was wir sagen?” - Can you understand what we are saying?
> 
> “Quis est enim mulieri? Vidi in conspectu eius.”- Who is this woman? I have seen her before.
> 
> “Wie hast du diesen Dämon herbeigerufen?”  
> “Mach das nicht wieder.” - How did you summon that demon? Do not do that again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is late.
> 
> VERY LATE
> 
> (im sorry)  
> 

They fought their way through the frozen valley, facing shades and wraiths.

Cassandra stopped to catch her breath, sheathing her sword as the shade before her dissipated into a puddle of shadowy goo. She turned to see the prisoner take down a wraith with a surprising amount of skill. It was rare to hear of a mage who was skilled with melee weapons, but it seemed he was a very well trained fighter. She noted his fighting style didn't match the short sword he used; his style implied he was more used to a longer weapon. Perhaps a spear, with the heavy thrusts, through the slashing also implied a more bladed weapon. Maybe a halberd? She wasn't sure; perhaps Commander Cullen would know?

    After they had paused to catch their breath, they made their way towards the large hill, where the others were fighting on the other side.

Cassandra couldn’t help but notice that the prisoner hadn’t used any magic since the incident by the bridge earlier. Perhaps he was out of mana? She had offered him a lyrium potion, but to her surprise, he had taken one look at it, and stepped away, as if it made him uncomfortable.

    Maybe he had assumed she had a problem with his magic, instead of the fact he had openly summoned a demon- though, Cassandra had never seen a demon like the one he’d summoned, and he had done it so quickly. She wasn’t sure how. Perhaps it was something Tevinter mages were skilled with, or some sort of hedge magic. She would have to speak with Solas; perhaps he knew.

    She frowned, thoughts broken as she almost slipped on the ice; it wasn't easy to walk on it in armor without losing balance. Behind her, the prisoner snickered. He seemed unbothered by the weather, walking steadily, albeit slowly, on the ice. She hadn't seen him slip once, apart from when a Wraith had caught him off guard. _He’s used to this sort of weather then._

    Cassandra ignored the prisoners amusement, and continued onwards. She was suspicious of Solas; he had showed up after the explosion at the Conclave, offering his help. It was suspicious. Leliana had some agents keeping an eye on him, and had found nothing alarming so far.

“Come now, it’s not far,” Cassandra called out, not caring that the prisoner couldn't understand her. She had noticed he had an annoying habit of wandering away, usually to collect elfroot. Oddly enough, he had studied it as if he had never seen it before; which was odd, considering how common it was everywhere.

    She waited for him by the stairs that led up the large hill, to the first rift. Hopefully, Solas’ suspicions were correct, and this man could stop the Breach’s expansion.

 

                ------------------------------------------------

 

    Maybe this was an Oblivion plane- no, it didn’t feel like one. _A Daedric Prince probably brought me here, though. But which one?_

 

He sighed, wishing he at least had Sheogorath's Staff- er, well, his staff. Gods, he was never going to get used to that.

 

He couldn't think of any Princes who would have reason to do this…

A Divine, maybe?

...But why?

Gods, was this an Elder Scroll thing? Was he some Hero written in the prophecies to save some other land? That was such bullshit; he already did this-

His musing was interrupted when Cassandra suddenly called something over her shoulder and, unsheathing her sword, rushed up the large staircase.

Great, more fighting.  
_Y’know, i was actually looking forward to retiring, but whatever._

Sighing, he drew his sword and made his way up the stairs. When he reached to top, he stopped, surveying the new scene before him. There was a large green ripple floating in the air, and it felt off. The air twisted around it with an odd energy. He watched as the ripple pulsed, and two shades came through.

    _So they're not just coming through the Vortex,_ he thought. He noted a few other things; a few soldiers, a human looking mage, and- a very short person with a crossbow? Whatever

    He raised his sword, slashing at the demons, trying not to get hit. He had already used up all of his magicka, and had no way to regenerate more. Ironically, he knew an array of powerful and diverse spells; with enough potions, he could cast them, but he had none. The Imperial woman had offered him an odd blue potion, but it didn't ‘feel’ right. It gave off an unnerving energy that made him feel uneasy. She had seemed confused when he refused it; perhaps it was a helpful potion? He didn’t want to risk it.

He slashed at a nearby creature, and watched as it was struck by a bolt from behind, killing it.. He sent the sort man a quick nod of thanks, and turned to attack another, to find that all the creatures were dead. Before he could do anything, a hand grabbed his left wrist, yanking towards the ripple in the air.

    It was the mage, who said something urgently as he pulled him forward. Before he  could respond, an electric feeling shot through his arm, and the green mark glowed, and connected with the ripple in a shot of lightning. He felt like his very bone was being pulled out of his arm, lightening running up his arm. Then, the odd portal disappeared.

    He looked at the area where it was in shock, watching the air continue to twist and distort, then slowly fade.

    He turned to the mage, and was surprised to see a thin, human looking man, with thin pointed ears, made more prominent by his baldness; probably half elf, then. His eyes were a dark blue, sharp, and had an age to them, which made him uneasy. He was pale, with very light freckles on his nose and cheeks. He couldn't help but note the wolf jaw bone hanging on his neck. _Nice._

The mage said something, but instead of responding, he gestured to the woman and said, “Talk to her, I have no clue whats going on.”  
The mage looked taken aback, then looked to the Imperial, confused. They began speaking to each other about… something. Probably about him. The short man had sat down on a rock near them and began wiping ichor off his crossbow.

 

He took the chance to study the area the ripple was, wanting to know more about the situation.

The air was still vaguely green, with very slight distortions around it, which slowly faded.

He reached his left hand out, and watched as the the air vaguely twisted around it, the fading halting as it did so.

He watched in fascination, wondering about the nature f the mark, and how it interacted the ripple.

_I wish i had some paper to record this on._

 

                ------------------------------------------------

 

“Well, that is weird.” Varric said. He watched as the man wandered over the where the rift was, looking at the air around it, studying it.

Solas also watched the man for a moment, before turning to Cassandra

“I suppose this _could_ be some sort of heady injury,” he stated, “We’ll have to wait until after the Breach is sealed, and have Adan examine him”

Cassandra nodded.

“So the mark could close the Breach?”

“Possibly,” Solas responded, “it seems he holds the key to our salvation”

“Good to know”, Varric said with a smirk, “here I thought we'd be ass deep in demons forever.”  
Cassandra scowled, and turned back to Solas, “Solas, there was something else I would like to discuss about the prisoner.”

As Cassandra spoke with Solas, Varric wandered over to the man.

He was pretty short for a human, about as tall as an elf. _Probably elf-blooded_ , Varric mused.

“Hey there,” he said casually as he approached.

Despite having his back to Varric, the man seemed unsurprised by his approach. He turned from where the rift was, and looked down at Varric, dark eyes watching him. _I wonder where he got those scars. Looks a bit like bear claws._

“I’m Varric,” he introduced. He paused, watching the man's face remained unchanged.

Varric gestured to himself, repeating slowly, “Varric.”

Then, he pointed to the man, with a nod.

The man seemed surprised, studying him for a moment. then he hesitantly echoed, “Varric.” he pronounced the ‘a’ oddly, and put too much emphasis on the ‘i’, but otherwise fine.

The man thought about it for a moment, then hesitantly pointed to himself, “Mordayne”

“Mord-aine?” Varric said slowly. After another try, Varric got it, “Alright;  Mordayne. Nice to meet ya,”

The man, Mordayne, smiled slightly. He seemed nervous. Probably shaken up with whats going on.

“Varric,” the man began cautiously, “Est quia per scorpionem?” he gestured to Bianca as he said it.

Varric paused, then lifted her up, showing her off to the man.

“This is Bianca,” he said. Then, Varric repeated more slowly, “Bianca”  
“Bianca” Mordayne said slowly, smiling a bit brighter. He leaned forward, studying the crossbow with interest.

 

“What do you mean he’s not a mage? That’s not possible, i saw him-”

Varrice turned to watch as Cassandra and Solas approached, engrossed in their discussion. Solas seemed suspicious, and Cassandra was adamant about something.

The stopped by Mordayne.

“I saw _him_ -” Cassandra began gesturing to the man, “heal a soldier with magic, and summon a _demon_ . Not only that, but the only language he seems to be able to speak is Tevene; he is most definitely a mage; a maleficar, even”  
Varric turned to Mordayne, surprised. Mordayne, however, stood there, stoic and suspicious.

Solas seemed more puzzled.

“That’s not possible. When i was stabilizing the mark, I checked. He has no connection to the Fade the way a mage does.”

“And you sensed no magical energy, no mana?”

Solas paused for a moment.

“I did, but I assumed it was from the mark, due to the lack of connection to the Fade. I can check again, if you wish.”

Cassandra nodded, “please.”

Solas turned to the man, who seemed cautious of him.  
“Please remain calm,” Solas said slowly, “I’m just checking something” He spoke calmly.

Mordayne didn't understand, but stood still as Solas raised a hand and pressed it to the man's chest. There was a brief glow green glow from saolas’ hand, but suddenly, a violet ripple surrounded Mordayne, then it faded, leaving no trace

Solas jerked his arm away, confused.

“That's not right...” Solas raised his arm again, pressing his hand to Mordayne’s chest. Mordayne had gone oddly tense, watching Solas sharply.

This time, the green glow did not fade, but spread across his body.

When it was done, Solas pulled away, . “Thats…. Very interesting.”  
“What is it?” Cassandra said, suspicious, “What just happened?”  
Solas was silent for a moment, thinking.

Then, he spoke,

“When I attempted to cast the spell to check for magical energy, I felt nothing, then suddenly, the spell faded, as if it had been deflected.” His brows furrowed. “However, when I cast it again, it worked, and suddenly there was magical energy in him. Magical energy that wasn’t there before”

Its… as if he absorbed my spell, and it’s magic,” Solas turned to mordayne, who stood tensely, not taking his eyes off Solas. He seemed suddenly distrustful of him.

“Is that even possible,” Cassandra said, narrowing her eyes at Mordayne.

“I’m not sure,” Solas said, deep in thought.

“Maybe” Varric interjected, “it’s because of the mark. I’m not an expert on magic, but it could be messing with his,” he said, gesturing to Mordayne, who was still staring at Solas with narrowed eyes.

“That’s… possible,” Solas said finally, “but I can study it more after we seal the Breach”

“Alright, let’s go”

Cassandra immediately turned to Varric “Absolutely not. Your help is appreciated, but…”  
“Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need me.”

Cassandra made an annoyed noise, but didn't argue.

As this happened, Solas turned to the man, who hadn't taken his eyes off him the whole time. They seemed to be having a staring contest of sorts.

“Well, come on, Chuckles, Mordayne,”  
Cassandra turned to Varric, surprised, “Mordayne?”  
“Yeah,” Varric said, “Mordayne. Thats his name”  
“And how could you know that?”

“I asked him?” varric replied, amusedly

“How did you- Ugh, nevermind.”

Mordayne had finally looked away from Solas, having heard his name, and was now quietly watching Varric and Cassandra.

Varric looked to the Seeker.

“Well, he began, “aren’t you gonna introduce yourself.” He seemed amused.

Cassandra paused, then sighed.

She motioned to herself, and slowly said, “Cassandra.”  
“Cassandra.” Mordayne said, surprisingly with no trouble, though he seemed briefly surprised at her introduction.

Solas then cleared his throat, “Solas.”

Mordayne made an odd face, then said, “Solas.”

He paused, then added, “Ruam carminibus fatum mihi abstineas.”

Mordayne made an unhappy face as he said the last sentence

Solas looked confused as Varric laughed.

“Well , I think he likes you!”

Cassandra rolled her eyes, and they made their way down a nearby ladder, through the rubble, to the forward camp.

 

                ---------------------------------------------

 

    As they made their way through the valley, Varric took to attempting to teach Mordayne Kings Tongue.

Varric pointed to a nearby pine tree.

“Tree,” he said slowly.

“Tree,” Mordayne echoed.

“Snow”,

“Sn-ow?”

“Hmmm,” varric looked around, searching for more items to name. He eyes fell upon the staff tat solas carried.

“Hey Chuckles, come here for a second.”

Solas paused, then fell in pace beside them. “Yes?”  
Varric then turned to mordayne, pointing directly at Solas’ staff.

“Staff.”  
“Stav?”

“Close enough.”

Solas watched the prisoner- Mordayne- carefully. His face was usually stoic, occasionally broken by a small smile or confused look, but otherwise controlled. Solas noted his eyes were very observant, studying everyone, and watching them closely- especially Solas.

He also fought in a way that implied he was well trained, and held himself like a soldier. Perhaps he was one?

There was also the matter of his magic. While he was honest when he had said that Mordayne had no connection to the fade- but he was still, somehow, capable of using magic. He wasn't drawing power from his blood, either.

It was impossible

There was also the matter of his speech. When Solas was tending to the mark, he had checked for injuries- and found none. Not even a head injury.

Which meant that the only way for this man to be unable to speak Kings Tongue was simply because he was never taught- he was raised somewhere else, where it wasn't spoken.

Not Tevinter, nor Par Vollon.

 

There was an explanation, but he didn't like it.

 

“Hey, Chuckles, you still there?”

Solas snapped out of his thoughts, looking to Varric and Mordayne, who were watching ihm.

“Yes, sorry. I was lost in thought.”

Varric rolled his eyes, and turned to Mordayne.  
“Now lets see, what else can we teach you…”

Suddenly, Cassandra called out, “More demons ahead!”

Well, there was the end of that lesson.

 

                ----------------------------------------------

 

    _What is this guy wearing?_ _  
_ They had approached a large bridge, which had been converted into a camp of sorts. THere were soldiers and corpses, and various supplies and crates stacked around, along with weapons racks.

There was also a tent, and in front of it was a large desk.

In front of the desk was two people- one of them was the hooded Breton woman from the dungeon.

The other was an older man, in similar white and red robes that he’d seen others in, along with an odd head dress of sorts.

As they approached, he heard them arguing about something. The Breton woman was clearly upset, and the man was furious about something.

 

Once they reached the pair, the man blatantly cut of what seemed to be an introduction from the woman, and began spouting something off angrily.

Now, he, Cassandra, and the Breton woman were arguing.

_Great. Definitely gonna make progress like this._

As they argues, Mordayne glanced around. Varric and Solas were watching the argument, varric seeming a mix of annoyed and exasperated, while solas seemed stoic, though faintly irritated.

Mordayne then looked over at the ‘Breach’, as Varric had called it.

Mind wandering, he wondered about the gap in his memories.

For some reason, he doubted that his captors were responsible.

He began to wonder about the Breach’s appearance. Something that large, that destructive, must have been created with an unimaginable amount of magic; he suspected Daedric magic was involved. It seemed right up their alley.

But it wouldn't just ‘appear’- something had to have happened. A blast or explosion, or an unnatural storm.

Perhaps the process was responsible for his lost memories.

There was also the woman he had seen- it was, as far as he knew, the latest memory he had. That woman was definitely involved in this.

She had implied that she departed knowledge- but he didn't know what knowledge that was….

As much as it bothered him there was nothing he could do at this moment about this other than theorize. He wasn't in a position to discover all the answers right away; he needed to play along, learn more, and figure out how to regain his memories. He could only guess how much time had passed- in his latest memory before the dungeon, the one in the Temple of the One, he remembered it was a few months after being made the Captain of the Blades and sent to the Imperial City, and he knew for a fact that his hair had been cut as short as possible the week before to prevent any problems during a fight.  
Now, it went to his shoulders. That meant it had been at least quite a few months. Now, as for how long this Breach had been here--  

 

He was instantly aware of a slight tingling sensation on his arm, and before he could process it, the searing pain in the mark returned, and the Breach grew larger. He hunched over in pain, bracing his free hand on the stone wall of the bridge.

When the pain subsided, he looked up to find all eyes on him- the older man looked at him with disdain, while the Breton woman watched him stoically.

Grimacing in pain, he stood up straight, ignoring the looks he received.

 

Cassandra and the others eventually ended their disagreement, earning a few harsh words from the oddly-dressed man.

He heard the angry man say something bitterly to Cassandra as they passed, and Mordayne frowned _(what an asshole)_ , and followed Cassandra and the others down to the valley.

 

\------------------------------------

 

    It was chaos as the went into the valley. Soldiers charged, attacking the demons that fel from the sky. It felt almost familiar.

Mordayne was no stranger to war and slaughter; he’d seen enough of it at the Battle of Bruma, and the Battle of the Imperial City. He saw the bodies of soldiers and civilians. He’d even seen some children; mostly orphans with no homes to hide in. Children that no one missed.

    So he wasn’t particularly affected by the bodies of the soldiers he saw, the dead laid out in rows as some woman in robes preached over the bodies. There were injured men and women, some crippled, others dying in agony. He hated how familiar he was with this scene.

He noted other mages in robes, warriors in silver armor with flaming swords engraved on them. Mordayne made a note of these ensigns, he would need to learn what factions were here.

    Before he could continue to wonder, they found another rift.

His eyes widened at the sight of bones surrounding it, and they crunched underfoot. There were soldiers fighting the demons that came through the portal. The soldiers seemed weary, their blows weak, their stance sloppy. They were  obviously tired. _How long have they been fighting?_

The group charged to join the battle, and Mordayne didn’t think. Back in the Oblivion Crisis, he would charge into battle… and then it would be over, bodies around him, and he would remember nothing in between. It would happen more sporadically when he was younger, but at least he knew when to expect it now. Maybe it was easier that way. He didn't remember closing the rift, but now it was gone, and the demons were dead, as were some soldiers.

    As he caught his breath, one of the soldiers- no, a commanding officer from the looks of it- approached Cassandra. He looked Nord, maybe a bit of Imperial mixed in. They spoke for a moment, and the man turned to look at Mordayne. He had a firm, yet fatigued look on his face

The commanding officer was tall, fairly muscular, with broad shoulders. His hair was cropped short, curly and golden. He had a scar over hi upper lip, on his right.

His amber eyes burned into Mordayne, and he saw a tired look in them. Mordayne began to wonder how long this man had been here, fighting.

The man said something- instead of responding, Mordayne turned, away, silent. The man seemed annoyed at this response.

He exchanged more words with Cassandra, and they parted, the man helping a soldier hobble away as Mordayne and the others pushed onward, towards the Breach.  

It loomed over their heads the way death loomed over this valley.

 

                ---------------------------------------

 

    They were in the ruins of some sort of temple. Mordayne's eyes widened at the sight of the burnt bodies. Did the Breach cause an explosion when it appeared? He had been so busy fighting and closing rifts to really think about  the effects of the Breach’s appearance.

There were corpses everywhere, burned, arms reaching out, and the smell of flesh was i the air; it always had a specific smell, one he knew too well, and there were bones and _there was fire and death and everything was burning and oh god the world was on fire, the world was ending, everyone was-_

“Mordayne!

He gasped, spun around to find the group staring at him. Cassandra looked bothered, Varric had an almost pitying look on his face, and Solas looked curious.

He then realized he had been muttering under his breath again. Gods, he needed to stop doing that. He forced out a small smile, which seemed to unnerve the group even more.

They eventually continued onwards, Mordayne ignoring the bodies, burnt, no face or eyes, yet staring into his soul, pitch black, everything burned but it was _so cold-_

He felt a hand on his arm, and he jumped, only to look and find Varric standing next to him, looking worried.

_And now everyone thinks I'm crazy- or knows i am. Not much difference in my case._

Mordayne forced out another smile, and Varric gave comforting one. They walked through the ruins-

And there it was.

It was so high up, and he felt dizzy just looking at it. Ignoring the butterflies that swarmed in his stomach, he looked over to find Leliana and soldiers had shown up. She briefly spoke with Cassandra. Mordayne didn’t take his eyes off the Breach. Leliana eventually walked off towards the soldiers, and began directing them.

    Cassandra approached him. She pointed to the mark on his hand, then to the large rift that hung in the air below the breach.

He understood what she meant, and nodded at her.    They made their way down to the center, and as they did, a voice rang out.

He didn't understand it, and didn't see the source. There was something eerily familiar about it.

Mordayne froze. There was a cluster of crystals growing out of the ground, and they were red and they sang. The song was familiar, many voices ringing out, and it almost sounded like-

 

“Mordayne!”

Suddenly, he felt Varric grab his arm, pulling him back. Mordayne froze, not realizing how close he had gotten.

Varric looked panicked, almost. Mordayne stepped back, then walked further down the path, ignoring the way Varric called after him. _I need to get this over with._

More voices called out, from above him. Mordayne ignored them, and he heard Cassandra make a remark.

 

    They made it to the pit. There were bones everywhere.

He felt his hand flare, and he heard voices-

“Jemand hilft mir!”

“ _What’s going on here_?”

Mordaynes eyes widened. That was his voice! And it was in Nordic? No, not his voice, but similar, deeper; something wasn't-

 

There was a flash, and a scene appeared before him.

 

                ----------------------------------------------

 

    Cassandra froze when she heard a voice call out.

“Someone help me!”

 

That's the Divines voice!

 

There was a flash of light, and before them appeared a disturbing scene.

 

It was Divine Justinia, captured and held in the air by a red magic. Looming above her was a large, black, shadowy figure, with red eyes. Suddenly, two men entered the room.

 

It was… Mordayne. And next to him, a man that looked very much like him- identical, in fact. They both wore odd armor, made of bones and animal skin, with chainmail underneath. The man had shorter hair than Mordayne, and red warpaint in the form of claws across his face, exactly like Mordayne’s scars.

 

The man spoke, his voice almost the same as Mordayne’s, but the language was unfamiliar.

“Hva foregår her?”

 

“Run while you can! Warn them!” Justinia called out, voice desperate.

 

“We have intruders,” the dark, shadowy figure spoke, “Capture the outworlders. _Now_.”

 

There was another flash, and the image was gone. Cassandra spun to face Mordayne

“You were there! And that man- Who attacked? And the Divine-” she froze.

 

Mordayne stared up at where the images were, shocked, tears welling up in his eyes, hand over his mouth.

 

“Tristywyr?” he said, voice weak.

“Han var der med meg! Hvordan kunne jeg ha glemt …” He continued, a new language spilling from his lips.

Cassandra wasn’t sure what to say.

Solas hesitantly spoke, breaking the brief, awkward silence.

“This rift is not sealed, but it is closed… albeit temporarily…” He turned to Cassandra “I believe with the mark, the rift can be opened and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.”

 

Cassandra nodded, then turned to the others. “That means demons! Stand ready!”

 

Solas approached Mordayne, who silently stood there, wiping his eyes.

He pointed to the mark, then the rift. Mordayne nodded, suddenly looking determined.

 

He approached the rift. It hung high in the air, and he raised the mark.

 

The mark pulsed, and the rift opened.

 

The world faded.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im so sorry this is late. I have no excuse (other than sheer laziness and lack of motivation, but whatev) 
> 
>  I also tried to an a picture i drew of Mordayne, but it wouldnt show up. Heres a link to the picture instead
> 
> http://imperfectly-unknowingly-insane.tumblr.com/post/163840407481/small-doodle-of-my-hero-of-kvatch-his-name-is
> 
> (Nordic is Norwegian)
> 
> "Est quia per scorpionem?"- Is that a crossbow?
> 
> "Ruam carminibus fatum mihi abstineas.”- Please refrain from casting weird spells on me.
> 
> "Jemand hilft mir!”- Someone help me!
> 
> "Hva foregår her?” - What's going on here?
> 
> “Han var der med meg! Hvordan kunne jeg ha glemt …” - He was there with me! How could I have forgotten…


	4. AUTHORS NOTE- fic on hiatus

Alright, so it's been a while 

(A couple months, actually)

 

So, in all honesty, this fanfic was a bit impulsive. I didn't have anything planned out, and as I wrote, I realized I didn't have a 100% consistent grasp on Mordayne and his personality. 

I've decided the best place to start is the beginning- so this fanfiction is now on hiatus, and I'm going to write a separate fic that goes through the Oblivion questline and maybe the Shivering Isles. 

The Oblivion fic won't be too long, I hope, and I won't write and describe every single quest and event, so I won't drag it out. 

I feel like that would be a good place for me to start, in order to have a better grasp of what I'm doing and how I'm gonna do it. 

I might even start this fanfic back up while I'm at least partway through the Oblivion one. 

So, if anyone is up for reading that, keep an eye out, and I will (hopefully) have at least the first chapter out sometime within december. 

Thank you to anyone who stuck by for this mess, and I swear I'm not completely abandoning this. I just gotta get it together and have a better idea of what I'm doing so I can do it right. 

 


End file.
